Tango 546
by Zodiac1
Summary: Tango 546 is shot down, and a group of Marines are sent to rescue the crew.
1. Tango 546

"She crashed approximately 25 klicks north-east of your current position.  Relaying coordinates now," crackled the orders from Alpha post over the comm.    
            "Roger that, Alpha post, Charlie One-Twelve out."  
            Staff Sergeant Rob Baker punched the throttle to full, sending the warthog careering over a hill, almost due northwards, to land with a sickening crunch of suspension.    
            "We'll be lucky to make it to Tango 546's crash site in one piece, at this rate," jeered the passenger of the all-terrain vehicle, Private Jason Glassbrook.  
            "Yeah, Sarge, enemy's still 40 klicks away.  No need to hurry," shouted the Marine manning the three-barreled 50 caliber machine-gun mounted on the rear of the warthog, Private First Class Eric Williams.  
            "Now, you both know full well the speed those Cov'nant bastards can travel.  Any second we save gives us another second to set up a perimeter.  Now shut up and keep your eyes out for bogeys," was the stern reply of the Sergeant.    
            The Marines did as commanded.  They scanned the trees as they approached along the seldom-used trail, checking for movements of what could be enemies in ambush.   
            Suddenly two large red blips appeared on the Marines' optical viewscreens.  The blips matched perfectly a signature created by a pair of Hunters.  These fearsome 12-foot-tall monsters were covered in impenetrable armor made of an unknown substance, and were armed with shields of the same alloy, making them effectively invincible.  Squads had emptied clips upon clips into the creatures, only to have their rounds deflected harmlessly into the ground or air.  Hunters were heavily armed, as well.  Their shields were capable of rending a warthog in two and casting it carelessly 5 feet away from the Hunter.  A Marine could be trampled underfoot as his squad members were thrown aside.  But the most fearsome weapon they possessed, beside their sheer brute strength, was the fuel rod cannons mounted on their arms.  When fired, these weapons would discharge a bolt of green plasma, which exploded on impact.  Also, by some odd rule of the Covenant caste system, Hunters always traveled in pairs.  A fuel rod shot would leave a warthog as shrapnel, and leave a Marine a bloody mess upon the wall.  And one of these monsters was about to fire at Baker's squad.    
            Through the magnifiers on the Marines' optical viewscreens, they could see the beasts step from behind a knot of trees one Hunter on each side of the path, with 6 or 8 of the small Grunts behind them.  Baker shouted, "Glassbrook!  Rockets!"  This was enough to convey his orders.  Glassbrook reached to his left and unlatched a compartment in between the two front seats containing weaponry.  From the back of the compartment he drew a SPNKr rocket launcher, loaded already with two tubes.  He slammed the compartment shut, set his MA5B assault rifle on the floor, and leveled the rocket launcher on the top of the warthog's windshield.  "Sir!  Can you get us in range?!" he asked.    
            The sergeant replied, "If we don't get vaporized first!"  
            The fuel rod cannon on one of the Hunters' arms could be seen charging.  At this long range, though, the warthog would be a difficult target.  When a green flash emanated from where the Hunter was, Baker pulled the steering wheel hard to the right, all four wheels turning in unison.  He then turned back to the left, and with a small fishtail straightened out and was back on a suicidal run towards the Hunter in time to see a flash of green light, accompanied by a wave of heat and a dull explosion.    
            The 50 caliber Light Anti-Aircraft Gun came to life, sending a spray of thousands of bullets per minute towards the grouping of Covenant with a deafening sound and an utter lack of precision as it rotated.  Several of the Grunts fell over, though it wasn't certain whether they fell from the bullets or fear of them.  Sparks flashed as rounds impacted the first Hunter's armor and ricocheted.  Spent shell casings fell to the ground, silent compared to the gun firing.  After seeing that the bullets weren't making even a dent, Williams stopped and removed his earplugs.  The sound still rung in the ears of Baker and Glassbrook.    
            The second Hunter fired, as its comrade fended off machine-gun rounds, only to be narrowly avoided by some quick maneuvering.  Finally the Marines were close enough to fire off a rocket accurately.  Baker pulled the handbrake and sent the warthog into a slide that ended up with it 20 feet from the aliens.  "Glassbrook!  Out!" yelled Baker.  The two marines in the front seats jumped out of the vehicle and grabbed their weapons.  Williams opened fire again, the half-inch bullets ripping through the meager armor of the five-foot-tall Grunts.  Gouts of blue blood sprayed everywhere as they were tossed about by the machine-gun fire meant to take down aircraft.  The methane tanks on the Grunts' backs ignited, setting them aflame.  As soon as the Grunts were taken care of, Williams turned his attention to the major threats: the Hunters.  It was futile, though; the rounds simply weren't penetrating.  If he continued firing, though, he thought he may be able to get a lucky shot, or at least keep the Hunter pinned down while the other Marines took down the first one.    
            Meanwhile, Glassbrook was lying prone, trying to find the time to fire at one of the Hunters, with Williams spewing bullets carelessly overhead.  Through the sight on the launcher, he could see the Sergeant trying to draw the Hunter's attention away from the virtually defenseless warthog.  He was spraying rounds from his rifle at it, yet failed to attract its attention.  Baker unclipped a fragmentation grenade from his belt and tossed it in front of the Hunter lumbering slowly towards Williams and the warthog.  After bouncing three times on the hardened dirt, the grenade exploded, stunning the Hunter.  He looked around to see who had thrown the explosive, and finally saw Baker.    
            This was Glassbrook's opportunity to fire.  The unarmored orange flesh on the Hunter's back was the weakest spot.  Glassbrook aimed the crosshairs of the rocket launcher's scope squarely on the monster's exposed back and squeezed the trigger.    
            A rocket exploded from the disposable tube on the launcher with a roar and a stream of exhaust, impacting the center of the Hunter's back.  The rocket exploded, leaving a gaping orange wound in the tough beast's unarmored backside.  He stumbled a few feet, and then collapsed in front of Sergeant Baker.  
            As soon as loosing the rocket, Glassbrook turned on his side and aimed at the second Hunter.  His shielded arm was covering his face and neck from gunfire; he was blind.  Taking time to get off a clear shot, Glassbrook aimed for the Hunter's foot, where the rocket's force wouldn't be deflected by armored plating.    
            At the same time, Baker was clambering into the Warthog to get a sniper rifle.  He pulled it from its clamp and rested it against his shoulder and the hood of the vehicle, and aimed for the orange flesh of the Hunter's neck, currently covered by his shield.  He waited for Glassbrook's rocket and for the blinding flash and cloud of dirt from the explosion to settle, and squeezed the trigger.  The contrail of the discarding sabot round traced a path straight through the Hunter's neck.             
            "Yeah, stay down," said Glassbrook, as he emptied a burst of ammunition into the fallen Hunter's skull.  "Let's police these weapons."  
            The Marines went about collecting the plasma pistols wielded by the Grunts; their orders were to collect Covenant weaponry for research purposes.  They even made an attempt at prizing off the Hunters' fuel rod cannons, but gave up.  The weapon seemed grafted to the Hunter's arm, and they didn't want to risk setting it off.  These plasma pistols were dumped in the back near where the machine-gun was mounted, and the Marines were off again along the path, hoping the downed ship could hold off the enemy until they arrived.     
                          
                          
            


	2. The Colonel

            The warthog rolled to a stop at the peak of a hill.  The Marines sat staring at the black object in the center of the field.  It was clearly marked on their viewscreens and on the warthog's console as their NAV point, but the ship was strange.  The ship, which was about twice the size of a Pelican, was like nothing of the sort the Marines had seen previously.  The ship was black, jet black.  Staring at the ship was similar to staring into the void of space.  It seemed to draw light into it, and its edges were blurred.  They were blurred, except for the bottom part of the organically-shaped ship, where it had collided with the field.  Another oddity about this vessel was that, though it was marked with a NAV beacon, the ship itself had no radar signature.  It would be virtually invisible in space.

            All these aspects brought the Marines to one conclusion: they were looking at an ONI ship.

            "Oh man, I thought we—we were after like a dropship or something.  Not this ONI shit," said Glassbrook worriedly.

            "Let's just get the survivors and get out.  And let's hope they got a 'hog down there," replied Baker.

            Baker walked around the crashed ship, trying to find an entrance hatch.  He motioned to Glassbrook to take the warthog and find a defensible position in case of an attack.  While watching the warthog drive up the hill they had just descended, a message came across Baker's private comm. channel.  

            "Sergeant Baker, is that you?  This is Colonel Luci Butcher, captain of Tango 546."  The voice sounded female.

            "Colonel, sir.  Ma'am, are you okay?  Are you in need of assistance?"

            "Nah, just a few bruises.  These ships are like Volvos.  I bet it's less damaged than I am.  But for all I've tried, I can't get this junk-heap off the ground."

            "Sir, it seems imbedded in the ground pretty far.  Might that be the problem?"

            "It may be, let me go check.  I've stayed in here since I landed.  Those Covies are awfully curious."

             A hatch unfolded from the ship and a woman stepped down it.  She was of average height, very thin with long black hair.  Baker stood erect and saluted her, and was dismissed with a nonchalant wave of the Colonel's hand as she stepped to the opposite side of the abnormally black ship.  

            "Ah, yes.  That would be a problem…" she said regarding the crumpled from of the ship.  "This thing isn't gonna move.  She might be worth the salvage, though."  She then stood, glaring, at Sergeant Baker, as if he were doing something wrong.  

            "Aren't you going to radio command or your dropship, or something?" she said in an agitated fashion.

            "Actually, sir, all the dropships are all out on runs.  Command didn't tell us any details; we thought we were going to find a downed dropship, not an intel ship.  We actually thought you'd have a warthog," replied Baker.

            "Hah.  That's command for you.  Where's your squad, soldier?"

            "Oh, they're up on that hill, over there, sir," he said, gesturing towards the warthog."  

            "Why's that?  Thought I couldn't take care of myself?"  She laughed slightly.

            "No, sir.  Er—yes.  Wait, um….  We didn't know how many survivors there were, or if there were Covenant in the area, sir."

            This time, the Colonel couldn't contain her laughter.  But her laughter was cut short by a bolt of plasma vaporizing the ground near her.  The sergeant dove to the ground, shouting "Colonel!  Down!"  He glanced up and saw a flash of purple in the air: a banshee.  Colonel Butcher stood, though, grinning.  Suddenly, with a faint thud, the banshee was gone, replaced by a cloud of purple metal.  There was also a rod of some sort extending from the top of the ONI vessel and a faint contrail from this protrusion to the remnants of the banshee, which had already begun to rain down on the surrounding trees.  

            "Nice one, soldier.  I told you I could take care of myself.  This ship," she said, patting its hull, "Has the best armament you can fit on a ship this size.  What you just saw was a high-velocity hollow-shell MAC impact.  It's just a little MAC gun, nothing like the ones on Capital vessels, but it does its job.  Quite well."

            "Yes, sir," he said, Baker said, surprised at power of the small ship.

            "Get your squad down here, and I'll get us extracted.  I trust you have some sort of explosive on that thing."

            "Yes, sir, we have M9 fragmentation grenades and 102 mm shaped high-explosive rocket rounds."

            "Those rockets'll suffice."

            Baker pressed a button located on his temple, and spoke into the microphone suspended in front of his mouth, "Glassbrook, come to my location.  With the 'hog."  A faint "Yes, sir" could be heard through the sergeant's earpiece.

            The warthog rolled down the hill, braking five feet from the black vessel.  

            "Good.  Now…private," Colonel Butcher said, glancing at Glassbrook's rank insignia, "I need an M19 rocket.  You may want to get away from the ship.  Glassbrook handed Butcher the rocket, and she disappeared inside the ship.  Soon she came out, with a small chip in her hand and without the explosive.  She walked away 20 or so feet and thumbed a button on the chip.  Flames erupted from inside her ship with a roar.  The marines were astounded someone would so such a thing to a ship as obviously expensive as that one.

            "Don't worry.  Only making sure the Covies can't get any of the data on it.  Everything's flame-proof, excepting the computers.  Private, your radio?"

            Glassbrook unclipped the radio from the divider between the front seats and handed it to Colonel Butcher.  She fiddled with a few dials on the radio, then pressed the call button and relayed her message.  "Jim, this is Luci.  My ship was downed, and the boys Alpha sent don't have a spare seat.  I need a dropship.  Leave the 'hog on the cruiser.  Butcher out." 

            She tossed the radio back to Glassbrook and told him, "Relay the coordinates of my ship to ship code UNSC ONI1073."

            The soldier did as ordered, and within 10 minutes, a solid black sort of box-with-wings ship flew down and landed in the field.  It was merely painted black, unlike Colonel Butcher's ship.  It was different than the Pelican dropships.  Instead of being aerodynamic, it looked like a crate with a flat ship attached to the top.  Its wings extended over the side of the box, and that is where the VTOL engines were mounted.  The box itself looked as if it may be detachable, though.  The rear of the crate unfolded, showing two rows of seats as on the Pelican dropships, and indentations in the center that were aligned perfectly to hold warthog wheels, with straps affixed at each side to hold the axles in place.  The pilots climbed out of the cockpit on the top of the ship by ladders that extended simultaneously with the hatch on the rear of the ship.  

            One of the technicians shouted over the roar of the engines, "Colonel!  Come with us!  Marines, the warthog goes in the back.  Don't forget to the strap it down!"  The Marines took their seats in the dropship after affixing the warthog to the ship, and the colonel sat between the two pilots in the cockpit.  With a rumble, the rear door closed, and the ship took off.  The Marines had no idea where they were going, but the Colonel outranked even the highest-ranking officer at Alpha post.  She had jurisdiction.                                   


	3. Briefing

The hatch unfolded, and technicians immediately ran up to the ship, one towing a cable with something that looked like a claw attached at the end. The other end was on a track on the ceiling of what looked to be a huge docking bay. It was separated into three levels, with a domed roof. Pelican dropships, Longsword Interceptors, and ships resembling Colonel Butcher's and the boxier dropship they were just in were held in place along catwalks by magnetic clamps. In rows along the curved ceiling were suspended Warthog all-terrain vehicles, Scorpion battletanks, and some smaller one-person ATVs, all painted jet black.

The technicians detached the Marines' Warthog from the dropship and hooked the claw mechanism onto its chassis. It held the Warthog magnetically, and lifted it up along with the other vehicles. The whole bay was clinically clean and organized, lacking the array of tools, parts, and vehicles most UNSC bays had scattered on the floor. 

The Marines disengaged their seatbelts and stepped outside. A technician approached and asked for their weapons. They relinquished them, and the engineer placed them on a rack with tags indicating their owners, "UNSC Marine Corps." 

Colonel Butcher descended the ladder from the cockpit of the dropship, dismissing the salutes of the Marines and surrounding engineers. "Sorry 'bout all this, Marines. If you'll follow me…" she said, turning on her heel towards a small lift. 

They entered the exposed lift and the Colonel hit the button marked "2". When they reached the second level, Butcher walked towards a heavy steel door. Nearby was some sort of scanner, with a hand-shaped depression and some sort of visor. She walked up to it, and with her hand in the depression, placed the visor over her eyes. A flash of red light, and the security door opened. 

She motioned the Marines through the door into a short corridor, then closed the door with a panel on the wall. Colonel Butcher turned to face the men. "Marines, as you well know, ONI doesn't get many good soldiers. Most of us are strategists and covert agents. Some times, we have to resort to…other measures to acquire traditional grunts. Follow me to the briefing room."

She keyed open the next door and continued down the hallway, trailed by three somewhat confused Marines. 

After a short walk and another elevator ride, the group reached a room, marked "Briefing 1". They entered the room, and found another group of Marines, Privates and Sergeants like themselves, already seated. There were nine of them, three squads of three. 

"Take a seat," said Butcher, motioning towards three empty chairs. As the Marines were seating themselves, Colonel Butcher walked towards the front of the room, turning on a projector as she walked. It flickered, then displayed an image of a rotating planet. A blue globe, very similar in appearance to pre-industrial Earth of old, with lush, sub-tropical, forested continents outlined in black and two white ice caps, spun in the foreground in front of a star-dotted spacescape. As it rotated, a blue dot appeared on the largest continent, as well as blue text reading "Alpha Post" above it. 

"Marines, be forewarned that this mission is not exactly FLEETCOM…'authorized', but is ONI endorsed. The papers for your transfer from your respective vessels to the _Panther_ have come through, though. Back to the screen—" she said, pointing at the planet as the words, "THETA PRIME," appeared at the top of the screen and a red dot appeared on one of the smaller continents. This was marked, "Objective Alpha." 

"Objective Alpha is a cavern system of some sort, which the Covies seem very interested in. We need to stop the Covenant from obtaining whatever is inside it. Outside—" the projection zoomed in on the area, providing a detailed topographical image of the mouth of the cave and its surrounds, "There is a Covenant command post of some sort." Several blobs were outlined in red. "We expect two Wraith mortar tanks, two to four Shade stat. guns, two to four Ghost hovercraft, twenty to twenty-five Grunts, and four Elites, of a lesser leadership class. Two teams, teams A and B, will assault this position as the other two, C and D, sneak in behind to enter the cave."

The camera panned to show the winding passages of the cave. "This will be the more difficult aspect of the mission.  Troop estimates are uncertain.  Expect ten to thirty Grunts, three to ten Elites, possibly of the yellow Commander caste, five to twenty Jackals, and there may be a pair of Hunters. We will set NAV beacons at the turns to aid in navigation through the lengthy tunnels. The lower third of the tunnels are uncharted, though, so it's guesswork from there. Ten minutes after teams C and D enter the tunnels; teams A and B will break off from the enemy and retreat down the cave system as well. At this point, they will radio the _Panther_ with the enemy's location and strength and hold their ground 25 meters inside. Four Pelican dropships will strafe the area in three passes with 20 mm machine-gun fire after this radio signal. Teams A and B will mop up the enemy, police any vehicles possible, and secure the mouth of the cave. If teams C or D radio for assist, only one of the teams will be sent to assist. Clear? One team will stay topside at all times. We don't have men to spare for heroics. It's more efficient to collapse the tunnel than to lose another three soldiers."

The camera zoomed out slightly to show the relatively flat terrain extending about 10 kilometers from the objective. Four blue triangles and one green triangle popped onto the screen in a delta formation, the green triangle in the rear of the formation. "The blue symbols indicate Pelican dropships, one ship per team, each carrying standard-outfit Warthogs. The green symbol is a Bulldog-class dropship, carrying a Scorpion main battletank outfitted with two 7.62 mm machine-guns and a 204 mm main gun loaded with high-explosive fragmentation rounds. This main gun is _not_ to be used if there is a chance of friendly fire.

"The second-ranked soldier of team A will pilot the Scorpion. The highest- and lowest-ranked soldiers will man their dropship's Warthog. Team B will use their Warthog and also carry heavy weapons. Teams C and D are to carry medium weapons, with one sniper rifle and one rocket launcher between the two of them, preferably wielded by the passengers of the 'Hogs. 

"Teams C and D's objective will be the seizure and retrieval of a weapon, beacon, something that the Covenant are trying to protect or obtain. It will be up to the ranking officer of these teams what this object is.

"After completing their objective, all four teams will report to NAV Omega for extraction." This NAV beacon, outlines in orange, was about 5 kilometers away from the insertion point.

            "Teams A and B will consist of Corporal Burnside's and Sergeant Noles's squads respectively.  Teams C and D will be Staff Sergeant Baker's and Specialist Donaldson's.  

            "Report to the armory at 0600 hours for outfitting. At 0700, report to level 2 of Docking Bay 1 for vehicle prep and boarding. We land at 0830 hours. Dismissed."

The lights came back on in the room, and Colonel Butcher turned the projector off. As the Marines filed out of the room, they were greeted by four guards who directed them to their quarters and left the men with directions to the bay, galley, and recreation areas.   


End file.
